


The Road Goes On

by LeeLeeBee20



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeLeeBee20/pseuds/LeeLeeBee20
Summary: The Winchesters finally won: they stopped Chuck, restored Heaven, and earned their freedom. All it had cost them was Cas. As the brothers continue the family business of saving people and hunting things in a world now free from angels or demons, Dean struggles to find the strength to go on while searching for a way to rescue Cas from the Empty.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	1. Night Moves

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story will be told over four chapters, with the goal of completing the entire thing within two weeks. It's also my first time uploading anything to AO3, so please excuse any errors in uploading, and feel free to let me know if there's anything I can do to improve!
> 
> This takes place after a possible series ending where Chuck has been defeated, Jack has taken over as the new ruler of Heaven (with Kelly and Michael to guide him), and angels and demons are forbidden to return to Earth. Cas has been stuck in the Empty since the night he sacrificed himself to save Dean from Billie, and Dean is consumed with guilt and regret, trying to come to terms with what his life will be without Cas, even as he continues to search for a way to save him...

“Two beers,” Dean grunted, sliding a $20 across the scratched surface of the bar. He picked at the scars in the wood as the bartender leaned in to take the bill, waiting for the man to turn his back before allowing himself to look up. Dean watched the bartender work the register through the reflection in the mirror, his lips pulling into a soft, wistful smile as he traced the lines of the other man’s face with his gaze, following an old familiar pattern he had learned by heart so many years ago.

The register clicked shut and Dean tore himself away from the reflection as the bartender turned to face him, staring back down at the bar before their eyes had a chance to meet.

“Your change,” he said, placing a stack of ones and a few coins on the counter. Dean slid the money off the bar and shoved it in the tip jar as the bartender reached down to grab two long neck bottles. “Your beer. And-” he picked up a pen from the counter and scribbled something onto a napkin “-My number.”

Dean‘s eyes grew wide. “Oh, hey, uh, thanks man,” he stammered, “but I’m not-”

“Interested? No offense, but the way you’ve been watching me all night says otherwise.” He pushed the napkin towards him. “I get off at midnight.”

The bartender grinned, causing his deep blue eyes to crinkle in a way that was sexy and endearing and achingly _familiar_. Dean’s gaze wandered upwards, from the blue of his eyes to his tangle of dark, tousled hair. He knew he shouldn’t, but in that moment, in the low light of the bar, it was too tempting not to let himself believe that he wasn’t talking to a stranger, but to Cas. A very flirty, very interested Cas.

The thought reawakened something inside him, hot and quick, like the strike of a match in a darkened room. It melted the panic from his face, replacing it with the crooked, cocksure smile that had first begun to work it’s way deep into his muscle memory long ago, in an old barn on a moonless night in Pontiac. Dean leaned in closer, his swagger back in full force, and ran his eyes openly up and down the other man‘s body, taking his time to show his appreciation.

“You get of at midnight, huh?” He slid the napkin into his back pocket. “Tell me, if I call, does that mean you’ll be getting me off at midnight, too?”

The smile faltered from the bartender’s lips, replaced by a deep, pink flush across his cheeks that served only to brighten the blue of his eyes. Dean was staring at him intently now, his eyes shining with an unearned intimacy that the bartender found as exciting as it was unnerving. His blush deepened and he looked down, overwhelmed by the intensity, and the balance of power between them shifted.

_Don‘t look away_ , Dean pleaded silently. He didn’t want the power to be handed over to him that easily. He wanted the other man to fight for it, to push back, to meet his stare with defiance the way Cas did, in a silent challenge that made his blood run hot and his heart beat with the thunderous bass of a kick drum. But it was too late. The bartender’s gaze had already wandered across the room, to where another man was watching them from a table in the corner, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Boyfriend?” he asked, nodding towards Sam.

“Brother. Why?” He leaned closer and took a swig of beer, licking his lips as he set the bottle down. “You jealous?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’re still here at midnight.”

The bartender was leaning in now, too, near enough for Dean to see the rise and fall of his chest quicken under the stiff fabric of his white button-up. Near enough for him to see the eyes were the wrong shade of blue. Near enough to make it impossible for him to keep pretending the man standing in front of him was Cas.

The match that had been lit died, it’s tendrils of smoke turning to longing, twisting deep into his soul.

“I guess we’ll have to wait until midnight to find out.” Dean tipped his beer towards him and headed back to the table where Sam was waiting.

“Dean…” Sam trailed off as his brother sat down, not sure how to address what he had just witnessed. He didn’t care who his brother wanted to sleep with, no matter how surprising it may be, but him flirting hot and heavy with a guy who bore more than a passing resemblance to Cas had the potential for disaster written all over it.

“Drink up, Sammy,” he said, handing a bottle to his brother. Sam took the beer and watched as Dean threw his back, chugging half of it down in one swig. “I already found us our next case. Man in Rapid City was found dead in his car with his spleen ripped out. Could be one of ours. I say we head on back to the hotel, get our four hours in, and be back on the road by daybreak.”

“What else do we know?”

“I just told you, guy found dead with his spleen ripped out. Oh, and they didn’t find the spleen. I guessing whatever killed him was feeling a little hangry and needed a snack.”

“That‘s it? That‘s your case?”

Dean shrugged. “We‘ve done more with less.”

“Dean, we’ve been working cases for almost two months straight, and this one barely even qualifies. Don’t you think we should go home for awhile? Take a break?”

“And leave the good people of Rapid City at the mercy of a spleen snatching monster? Wow, Sammy. I expected better from you.” He looked away and finished his beer in another long swig, inwardly hoping his brother would give in. He didn’t want to argue with him. He didn’t want to go home. He just wanted to work. And maybe hit something. Anything to take his mind off what he had lost.

“Alright, one more case. But then we go home.”

“Deal,” he muttered, reaching out to clink Sam’s bottle in agreement.

“You done?” he asked, motioning to the beer. Sam nodded. “Good, let’s get out of here. This place ain’t us.”

Sam stood up and began heading toward the exit. Against his better judgment, Dean took one quick look back and caught the bartender’s eye. The hurt and confusion etched into the other man’s face - a face that looked so much like Cas’s - was almost enough to change his mind. But Cas was dead. He couldn’t hurt him anymore.

Dean turned and followed his brother out of the bar.

* * *

The ride to Rapid City was a quiet one. Sam stared out the window as the passed row after row of cornfields, the melancholy chords of Bob Seger’s “The Famous Final Scene” lulling him to sleep.

Sam had never loved classic rock the way his brother had, but lately he found himself missing the heavy bass lines and high energy guitar riffs that used to roar from the Impala’s speakers. In the last few months, his brother’s taste in music, much like his brother himself, had changed. Mellowed. Dean still favored the classics, but now he gravitated towards a softer selection - slow, mournful songs, steeped in longing and regret.

It wasn’t the only change Sam had noticed since they had lost Cas. When it first happened, he had expected Dean to be angry, the way he had been the last time, and while Sam could still see flashes of the that stubborn old spark - usually in the middle of hunts, when the adrenaline was pumping and lives were on the line - for the most part it was like something had burned out inside him.

Sam still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened the night the Empty had come for Cas. He suspected there were pieces of the story Dean hadn’t told him, just as he suspected he knew what those pieces were, but he hadn’t pressed. He hoped his brother would tell him when he was ready, if he ever was.

The last chords of the song swelled, then died, and Dean reached out to switch off the stereo. Sam turned to look at him. His brother was staring straight ahead at the nearly empty highway, his eyes shining from the pool of tears collecting behind his lash line, ready to spill over if only he would let them.

“You okay?” Sam asked gently. Dean nodded, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead.

“Sometimes it’s nice just to have quiet.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed.

They rode together the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

“Well that was a bust,” Sam sighed as they made their way out of the Rapid City Police Department. After meeting with the lead detective, they discovered the case wasn’t even open, let alone supernatural. The police has arrested a suspect earlier that morning, and he had confessed in exchange for a deal hours before the Winchester’s had even pulled into the parking lot.

Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be. We already paid for the motel room. I say we hunker down, find a new case, and head on out. There’s bound to be at least one vampire nest between here and Kansas.”

“And if there is, there’s at least a dozen other hunters who can handle it. Look Dean, we’ve been on the road for over a month. I want to go home. Sleep in my own bed for at least a couple of nights.” His face softened as he saw the pain in his brother‘s eyes. “We have to go back sometime,” he reminded him gently.

“I know.” Dean yanked off his suit jacket and tie, trying to free himself from the feeling of suffocation that the thought of returning to the bunker brought him. He threw them both in the trunk and slammed it shut, hard. Too hard.

“Sorry, Baby,” he whispered to the Impala, giving her a gentle pat of repentance. He could see his brother watching him through the rear windshield, brows furrowed with the patented Sam Winchester blend of concern and pity. Dean shook his head. “It’s gonna be a long ride back to the bunker,” he muttered under his breath.

* * *

The sun was already low in the sky by the time they started through the Dakota Badlands. The further they drove, the lower it sank, casting it’s shadows over ancient, eroded stone, until day turned to dusk and the last vestiges of light were swallowed by the night, blanketing the world in darkness.

Dean pushed on, through the black, guided by the warm electric glow of Baby’s headlights. He wondered if this was what it was like for Cas in the Empty, wondered if he had his own version of Baby to show him the way forward, or if he was lost, stuck stumbling around forever in the dark, waiting for daylight that would never come. The thought _hurt_. It wasn’t a tangible pain, like a rib cracking in two or a hellhound slashing at skin until there was nothing left but ribbons, but it hurt just the same. Maybe more. Those other things, those were only flesh wounds. This hurt his soul.

He glanced at his brother, desperate for a distraction, and found him bathed in gentle, blue light, the corners of his lips pulled into a soft smile as he typed a message out on his smart phone.

“Eileen?” Dean asked.

Sam looked up, his soft smile gone, replaced by guilt.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“How’s she doing?”

He hesitated. “She’s good.”

“She out on a hunt?”

“Yeah. In, uh, Oklahoma.”

Silence filled the air. The phone buzzed as a new text came through, but Sam ignored it. He switched off his screen, letting the blue glow fade to black, and joined his brother in the darkness. Dean shifted uncomfortably and repositioned his hands on the steering wheel.

“It’s okay to talk to me about her. You got your win back, Sammy. That’s a good thing.”

“I know. It’s just…you didn’t.”

“We took down Chuck. Broke free from his puppet strings. That’s my win.”

“Sure,” Sam agreed. They both knew it was a lie. Cas had been Dean’s win, just as Eileen was Sam’s. Maybe he would have seen that sooner if he hadn’t been so blinded by his anger for Chuck, by his need to take revenge. “I miss him, too, you know,” Sam said quietly.

Dean felt his jaw clench. He didn’t doubt Sam missed Cas, the same way Sam missed their version of Bobby, and their mom, and Charlie, and Kevin, and so many others. But his death, just like all those others, was an acceptable loss. An occupational hazard of the job. Sam would grieve, he would hurt, and every once in awhile he would think about Cas and a bittersweet nostalgia would wash over him, but in the end Sam would move on, like he always did. Dean didn’t think he ever could.

“It’s not the same,” was all he said. Dean turned the music back on to discourage any further conversation, and the wistful sounds of of James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” drifted through the cab. Sam raised an eyebrow and stared at his brother, his face twisted in confusion. “What?”

“Dean, I know you’re upset, but really, James Taylor?” He looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye, only to find him smirking, and a smile tugged at his lips.

“Sorry, Sammy. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.” He turned up the volume and shot him a grin. “Learn to love it.”

Dean turned his attention back to the road and, for the first time in a long time, the road seemed a little brighter. 


	2. You'll Accomp'ny Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters finally won: they stopped Chuck, restored Heaven, and earned their freedom. All it had cost them was Cas. As the brothers continue the family business of saving people and hunting things in a world now free from angels or demons, Dean struggles to find the strength to go on while searching for a way to rescue Cas from the Empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on the first chapter! This one is another sad one, but the next chapter will start to shift the tone.

He didn’t want to go back to the bunker.

Dean had longed for a home ever since the night he watched the only one he had known burn to ash in front of him, with his mother inside. As a teenager, the closest he had come was when his father would drop him and his brother off at Bobby’s junkyard up in Sioux Falls before disappearing for weeks on end to hunt some monster or another. As a young man, home had been Baby, engine purring as she crisscrossed the country, carrying them from one adventure to the next, Sam in the seat beside him. And, as a man, home had been the bunker.

It had been more than just the place he would crawl back to when he was broken and bleeding. The bunker was also the place where he spent countless late nights at the kitchen counter, drinking beer and laughing with Sam and Cas. It was where the four of them would cram into the Dean Cave to watch cheesy action flicks, Sam, as always, in the seat beside him, Jack, cross legged on the floor, and Cas…Cas standing just behind, watching the three of them more often than the movie, his eyes shining with something akin to pride. It was the place where he finally grew up. It was the place where he had built his family.

But the bunker didn’t feel like home to Dean, not anymore. He used to see it as a place of safety, of comfort - a refuge in a never ending storm of chaos and uncertainty. Now all he saw were the ghosts of everything he had lost.

He wondered if this was how his mother had felt when Amara had brought her back after all those years away. A relic, standing still in a world that had moved on without her, searching for something to hold on to. He understood now, why she had left in those first few weeks, abandoning the sons who desperately wanted her to love them in favor of chasing down memories of a family that had stopped existing the same night she had.

Now his mother was gone and it was Dean who was the relic, stuck in the past, drowning in the memories of what was and what could have been. _“Now is always better than then,”_ Amara had once told him. She had been wrong about bringing his mother back, and she was wrong about that. Bitch.

For all the years he spent trying to be his father, Dean was like Mary in more ways than he’d ever admit. And, as he pulled back into the bunker garage for the first time in weeks, there was a part of him that considered running, just as she had. It would be so easy to let Sam out and then just floor it to freedom. He could hit the open road, alone - just him, Baby, and Bob Seger - and drive across the country, free of the old ties and burdens, in search of his own something to hold on to. But he knew Sam would never let him go. He would always be there, in the seat beside him, whether he wanted him to be or not. Most days, that knowledge brought him comfort. But there were other days, like today, where it made him feel caged.

Dean twisted the key in the ignition and listened as Baby’s engine died - just like everything else had in this damn tomb - and followed his brother inside.

* * *

With heaven and hell sealed, cases were scarce. Dean still scoured the internet every night, searching for anything remotely supernatural. He didn’t care where it was or how tenuous a lead it may be, as long as it meant he could be out of the bunker and back on the road again.

He finally found a solid possibility in Knoxville, where bodies were turning up with strange symbols carved into their chests.

“Look at this one,” he demanded, handing his brother the tablet with the local news report. “You heard of Tennessee whiskey? Well how about Tennessee witchcraft?”

“Definitely looks like a witch,” Sam agreed as he scrolled through the article. “Hey, Eileen is just finishing up a case around Nashville. Mind if I ask her to come along?”

“No argument from me.”

They headed out at dawn and made it to Nashville by sunset, where Eileen was waiting with a few hunters from her network in the parking lot a run down motor court. Dean brought the Impala to a stop and Eileen threw her duffle in the trunk, then ran to the passenger side window, giving Sam a quick peck on the lips before climbing into the back. Dean watched through the rear view mirror as she scooted to the middle seat and pulled the seatbelt across her lap, as though she had done it a million times. As though that spot belonged to her. As though Cas had never been there.

“Dean?” Sam asked, shooting his brother a concerned glance. “You okay?”

Dean shook himself free of his thoughts and shifted gears.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

* * *

Eileen turned out to be a welcome addition to their little team of two. Like the Winchesters, she had been raised in the world of hunting, and it showed. There was a resoluteness in her, a drive to keep going, to shoulder the responsibility of the hunt until the problem had been taken care of. She was smart, too, picking up on clues the boys had missed. Dean wondered if her loss of hearing gave her the ability to notice visual details in a way he never could. 

It was Eileen who ended up finishing the case, taking down the witch with a bullet straight to the heart. They celebrated her success with dinner at a real restaurant - not just the local diner up the road from the motel. It was fancier than what Dean was used to, and, as good as the food was, he couldn’t help but feel out of place in a restaurant that sold a sixty dollar shot of whiskey. He had always been too rough and tumble, too blue collar, for this kind of scene. Sam, on the other hand, fit in perfectly, both with the other diners and with Eileen.

Dean excused himself before dessert and headed back to his room in the motel, alone. From the way Sam and Eileen had been making eyes at each other all night, he had a feeling neither of them minded.

The motel was quiet when he got back. It was a Friday night, he realized, and most of the guests were probably out, living their lives, while he was here, sprawled out on the lone double bed in the center of the room, alone, searching for new cases on his phone. 

Dean thought about going out, driving Baby around town until he found a seedy bar and a lonely local, ready for some no strings fun with a man just passing through, but even that didn’t have the same appeal it used to. He didn’t want a meaningless one night stand. He wanted what Sam and Eileen had: a partnership, based on trust and understanding. He wanted to put on a dress shirt and go to some stupid fancy restaurant and not feel awkward or out of place because he was too busy staring into the other person’s eyes to even notice he didn’t fit in. He wanted someone who loved him for all that he was, deeply enough to be blind to all he wasn’t. He wanted Cas.

Dean rolled off the bed and settled himself onto the threadbare carpet, his bones cracking as he dropped down to his knees. 

“Hey, Cas.” 

He paused, like he always did after the opening of his prayer. A little part of him hoped if he just waited a moment, he would hear the words “Hello, Dean” float into the room, spoken by a deep, gravelly voice. But the moment passed, and the room was still silent. Dean continued on.

“Just thought I’d check in again, in case you can hear me. I haven’t given up on you. I’m still looking for a way to get you out of there. I wish you had told me about your deal earlier, man, so we could have figured a way out of it. I uh, I wish you had told me about a lot of things.

We took down a witch today. Well, Eileen did. Sammy and I mostly got our asses handed to us. She’s a good hunter, Cas, and I think Sammy loves her. You should have seen the puppy dog eyes they were giving one another at dinner. I should be happy to have her around, and in a lot ways I am, but Cas, she keeps sitting in your seat. And there are times, at night, when we’re driving, and I see her out of the corner of my eye, and her hair, it’s dark, like yours, and for a second I forget. For a second, everything is okay again. Then I turn around and realize it’s not you, and it’s like someone pulled out all of my stitches, and I’m bleeding all over again. And in those moments, Cas, I hate her. I hate her, cause she’s not you. I know it’s not fair, but when has life ever been fair, for either of us?”

Dean raised his hands to his face and rubbed his temples, trying to push back the anger rising inside him and let other emotions fill the void instead.

“I’ll keep looking. I’ll keep looking for a way to bring you home. I miss you, Cas. And I…I love you.”

He always ended his prayers like that now. The words were still hard for him to say, even to an empty room. Dean said them anyway. He didn’t know if Cas could hear him, but if he could, he wanted him to know he was loved.

The door shut in the room next to him, and the sound of Sam and Eileen’s laughter drifted through the motel’s thin plywood walls. He heard a thud as their headboard slammed against the plaster, followed by the sounds of their muffled conversation as they spoke to each other sweet and low, the way lovers do. Dean pushed himself up and rifled around his duffle until he found his headphones, then he blasted Metallica into his ears as loud as he could, drowning out the sounds of happiness from the room next door. He had never felt more lonely.

* * *

Eileen moved in a few months later, and Dean watched as the bunker transformed itself back into a home again. Just not for him. 

Sam and Eileen went out most nights. On the nights they stayed in they would spend their time cuddled up in the Dean Cave watching movies - usually boring documentaries or foreign films with subtitles - and talking to each other in a language he didn‘t understand. In the beginning, they always made a point of inviting him to join, but it was a rare night when Dean would accept. Somehow, being around them only made him feel more alone. After awhile, they stopped asking. 

So while his brother and his girlfriend would have date night in the den - no one called it the Dean Cave anymore - Dean would work alone in the library, researching the Empty. When he would get frustrated, he would grab a bottle of whiskey and head to his bedroom, where he would listen to music until he fell asleep. Sometimes, on the harder nights, he would get on his knees and pray to Cas. 

The three of them would still hunt together, but more often than not Dean would take off on his own, just him and Baby, investigating leads neither Sam or Eileen saw any promise of the supernatural in. Most of the time they were right, but Dean would stick around and work them anyway. 

His brother would still call every night to check in, no matter how busy he was with his own case. Sam wouldn’t let the tether of brotherhood slip free, even as the rope began to fray and the slack piled up between them. It was that tether that pulled Dean back to the bunker time and time again, even as the urge to break free grew stronger.

When the tether finally snapped, it wasn’t from a fight, or a lie, or a betrayal. It was a baby.

Sam had asked Dean to accompany him on a case in Kansas City, where three victims had been killed by exsanguination in two weeks. They hadn’t worked a job together a month, but Eileen wasn’t feeling well, and Sam didn’t want to go alone, so the brothers packed their gear and loaded up Baby for the hunt. Eileen came with them to the garage to see them off, and Sam kissed her goodbye. It was just a simple peck on the lips, but as he pulled away, Dean caught his brother’s eyes flicker downward, to her stomach, and he smiled. That’s when Dean knew it was finally time.

It didn’t take long to finish the case. After battling God, Lucifer, Knights of Hell, Leviathians, and just about every other creature heaven or hell could throw at them, one vamp wasn’t much of a challenge. The hunt felt like old times - tense, strained, with an undercurrent of resentment - the way it did when Sam had first left Stanford to join him on the road all those years ago. It was fitting, that the end should feel like the beginning.

Dean took the long way back to Lebanon, blasting Zeppelin as they drove down pitted state highways and backwoods dirt roads, dust kicking up into the air around them. Sam didn’t complain over his choice of route. He suspected they both knew it would be the last ride they would take together, but neither of them were truly ready to let go. Not yet. 

They stopped for gas at a station in Scandia. They were close to the bunker now, sitting in palpable silence. It would be their final stop before it was over. Once the tank was full, they would head back onto the road and drive those last few miles to the end of the line.

“This is stupid,” Sam muttered, his eyes trained toward the general store, away from his brother. “You don’t have to leave.”

Dean bit his lip, waiting for a spark of anger to light a fire inside of him. But it didn’t, not this time. He didn’t feel anger anymore, or resentment, or even uncertainty. Not now that it was almost over. 

“It’s not just that,” he admitted. “We fought to be free, but it was never just Chuck that held us back. It’s this job, this life, it’s us. I love you, Sammy, but my life can’t keep revolving around you. And neither can yours.”

The silence swirled around them, but this time it was different. Gone was the oppressiveness, replaced instead with a bittersweet acceptance that came from knowing that they had come to the end of one road and the start of another. Only this time, they wouldn’t be traveling down it together. 

‘I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too, Sammy. Me too.”

“Dean…What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I guess whatever I want.” He smiled at his brother. “How about you? You two pick out a name yet? For the baby?”

“It’s still pretty early. We only found out a few days ago. How did you figure it out? Did Eileen…?”

“I may not be as smart as you, Sammy, but I’m not an idiot. Not all the time.”

The fuel pump clicked, letting them know the tank was full. Dean removed the nozzle from the Impala and placed it back in it’s holder, taking a deep breath before climbing back in the car. “Ready?” he asked Sam, forcing a smile. His brother nodded, and Dean turned the key in the ignition, bringing Baby back to life.

* * *

They pulled back into the bunker garage for the last time. Sam jumped out and headed towards the stairs, back to Eileen, then stopped, standing at the doorway as he waited for his brother to catch up. 

Dean was moving slowly, hand running over Baby’s sleek, black hood, expression wistful as he stared back at the cab of the Impala. In his mind’s eye, he could still see himself in the driver’s seat, Sam riding shotgun, head bent over as he studied John’s journal. He could picture Bobby, watching the road from the backseat, muttering ‘Idjit’ under his breath every time Dean sped up to beat a red light. And he could picture Cas and Jack, sitting in the seat behind him as they drove down some rainy back road highway, stereo blasting, his angel’s eyes shining bright every time they met his in the rear view mirror. 

And that was when he realized the ghosts from the bunker were in Baby, too. Dean stared at the keys and made a decision.

“Hey, Sammy?” His brother took a step towards him, and Dean tossed the keys. “Take ‘em. They’re yours.”

“What? Dean, I‘m not taking the Impala. It‘s like your baby.”

Dean shrugged. “She was always supposed to be a family car. Now she can be.”

Sam stared at him, bewildered, but when he saw the look in his brother’s eyes he understood. He had seen that look before, in the mirror, every time he thought of Jess. Her memory had haunted him for years, no matter how much distance he put between them. But those memories were tied to another time, another Sam, one who had tried to be someone he was never destined to be. Dean’s were tied to the person who made him who he was. He would carry those memories on his own; he didn’t need any other reminder.

“I’ll take good care of her,” he promised.

“You better.” He grinned. “Bitch.”

Sam shook his head and smiled. “Jerk.” 

Dean left the garage and headed back to his room for the last time. It would only take an hour and a couple of duffles to box up his life. He had never been one for material goods, a byproduct of a childhood spent on the road, moving from one cramped hotel room to the next at his father‘s command. He wouldn’t need to take everything: just his clothes, a few photographs, and a handful of keepsakes. He could leave all the weapons. He wouldn’t have any need for those where he was going.

Sam and Eileen were waiting in the garage when he was finally ready to leave, arms wrapped around one another. His brother helped load up one of the spare cars in the bunker while Eileen hugged him goodbye. 

“You don’t have to go,” she told him. “We don’t want you to. I didn’t get to grow up with my family. I like having a big brother.”

Dean pulled away, facing her so she could read his lips and signed as he spoke, as best he could. “You still do. But you and Sammy - Sam - need to start your own life, and I need to start mine.”

She nodded, trying hard to mask her disappointment, and Dean moved on to say his goodbyes to his brother. Sam wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, clapping his giant moose hoof of a hand against his back. “You’ll be back, right?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. 

“Of course, man. Gotta come back to meet the kid. Maybe even for a wedding, before that?”

Sam nodded, breaking into a knowing smile. “Maybe.”

He squeezed him tight, one last time, and climbed into the driver’s seat of a new car, one where he didn’t expect to find Sam in the seat beside him. Then he started up the engine and drove away from Lebanon, as Bob Seger played from the stereo. And, for the first time in his life, he finally felt truly free. 


	3. Against the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean builds a life after retiring from hunting; a familiar face unexpectedly appears.

Life on the road was easy. Dean made his way across the county, heading to no place in particular, stopping when he wanted and taking his time to explore. All the choices he made were his. He didn’t look for cases; he ate when he was hungry, and slept when he was tired. And he still prayed, to both Cas and Jack. To Cas, his prayers were the stories of the places he had been and the things he had seen. They were promises that he would keep searching for a way to save him. And they were assurances of love. To Jack, he prayed to be led to his something to hold on to, if he couldn’t give him Cas.

When Dean finally tired of life on the open road, he settled in a small town about an hour north of Sioux Falls. It was close enough to Jody’s to be able to visit her and the girls on the days when the loneliness inside him surged and swelled, pushing him to his breaking point, but still far enough to satisfy his need for freedom. He took a job as a mechanic in an auto shop, worked hard, kept his head down, and, after a few months of sleeping alone in a cheap motel just off the highway, he finally had enough to put a down payment on his own little piece of paradise. 

It was a modest find, a couple of leaky pipes and one bad roof away from a fixer upper, but it had strong foundation and a view of the lake. On Saturday mornings, he would drive to the hardware store in town to pick up supplies, then spend the rest of the weekend doing whatever he could to bring the place back to life. When he was done, he would pack up his tools and sit on the small dock at the edge of the lake, watching the sun sink into the water with nothing but a cooler of beer and his memories to keep him company. It was a quiet life, tinged with melancholy, but that was the way he wanted it.  
  
There were still women. Sometimes men. Most only lasted a night, some a little bit longer. One even stuck around long enough for him to for him to consider it something, but when the time came to decide if it should be something more, he burned it down until the flame had been extinguished and nothing was left but bitterness and ash.  
  
In the end, torched relationships and one night stands didn’t matter. Dean wouldn’t find his something to hold onto drinking away his regrets in a run down dive bar on the edge of town. He would find it in a girl, strong willed and stubborn, with long blonde curls and eyes just the right shade of blue.  
  
Dean didn’t know why it surprised him. Claire may have been the first kid Cas tried to parent, but he had never seen much of his angel in her. He had seen himself.  
  
Claire didn’t visit much at first; just the occasional stop on the way back to Sioux Falls after a hunt when the road took her in his direction. As the visits became more frequent, their bond became stronger. And, over time, he grew to love her, the way he should have loved Jack if he hadn‘t been so afraid. He taught her about cars, and when he opened his own shop she would help out with repairs to make money between hunts. Sometimes they’d hustle pool together. Sometimes they would talk about Cas.  
  
Dean wouldn’t hunt with her, though. That part of his life was over. He did, however, find himself at the opposite end of countless phone calls from police departments across the country, checking to verify if the two young women who had strong-armed their way into their investigations were FBI agents as they claimed. He was halfway through a call with the Lincoln PD when he came to the realization that Mary was no longer the parent he was most like. Neither was John. His mother and father, for all the love they had for him and his brother, never could let that love outweigh the anger they carried with them. But Bobby had. 

When Dean was a young man, the knowledge that he would grow up to be like Bobby would have filled him with disappointment. Now, at 47, there was no one who could make him prouder.

As the years rolled on, the spare bedroom transformed into a library, and the basement turned into Claire and Kaia’s favorite place to crash between hunts. The three of them would spend most of their nights researching: the girls looking up new cases and Dean reading up on the Empty, still searching in vain after all these years for something that could save Cas. Sometimes, when the weight of it all became unbearable, they would abandon the collection of musty old books Dean had so painstakingly curated in favor of movie night, complete with a bowl of popcorn and a couple of six packs.  
  
“Hey Dean, did you know they kept making movies after 1995? Maybe one night we could watch something from after I was born,” Kaia teased in between mouthfuls of popcorn.

“Fat chance,” Claire said with a laugh as she wrapped her arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders. “Old Man likes old music, old cars, and old movies.” Dean shook his head, trying to hide the small smile pulling at his lips.  
  
“Idjits.”  
  
She stuck her tongue out at him.

Claire had started calling him “Old Man” as a joke, her way of mocking him about the streaks of gray that had begun appearing in his hair. Over time, it had come to have a different meaning, though neither of them would ever say it out loud.

On his 50th birthday, she gave him a framed picture of the two of them that she had wrapped up, clumsily, in cowboy boot themed wrapping paper. He placed it in the center of the mantle above the fireplace, where it shared pride of place with a photo of Jack, Sam, and Cas. Then he hugged her, the same way his father used to hug him, back when he was young and their world had yet to turn to dust.

“I love you,” he told her. The words come easy now. Those old walls had broken down a long time ago.

Claire looked down and nodded.

“I know.” She couldn’t say it back, even though she wanted to. Dean understood. He used be the same way.

Kaia walked through the front door a few minutes later, pink bakery box in her hands and an impish grin on her face.

“You got me a birthday cake?” he asked, already trying to pull open the box before she could even set it on the counter. Claire smacked his hand away.

“You really think we’d get you a cake, old man? What are we, new?” She smiled at her girlfriend. “Kaia, if you’ll do the honors.”

Kaia smile widened, and she flicked the box open with a flourish. Both girls looked on expectedly as he peered inside to find a nicely decorated - but somewhat ordinary looking - cake.

“It’s a piecaken,” she explained, noticing his confusion. “It’s pie, baked into a cake. We got it made special.”

“You’re telling me there’s a pie in that cake?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Nooo, we’re telling you there’s two pies in that cake. Apple and cherry.”

Dean stared at her, disbelieving, then broke out into one of the biggest grins he could remember in years.

“That’s friggin’ awesome!” he exclaimed. The girls laughed, and Kaia leaned in for a hug while Claire lit the candles. When she finished, they sang him ‘Happy Birthday’. It was terrible - off key and warbly, and Claire looked like she wanted to die of embarrassment the entire time - but it was sung with love. Dean felt a warmth wash over him, even as his eyes grew misty. And, as he blew out the candles, making the same impossible wish he did every year, his heart broke just a little less from the knowledge that it would likely never come true.

He may not have everything he wanted, but at least what he had enough.

* * *

Summer rolled around, and the days grew long. Claire and Kaia left on another hunt, tracking a vampire nest just south of Granite Falls. It was shaping up to be a long job, and he didn’t expect they’d need to call him for advice on this one; when it came to vampires, Alex was the expert. Dean didn’t mind. His auto bay was full and he’d need to work late for the next few nights to finish all the repairs anyway.

Dean rolled open the bay doors, letting in the cool Dakota night air. He clicked on his phone, and the sound of classic rock filled the empty room as he threw on his favorite pair of oil-stained work gloves and got to work rebuilding the engine of a 1962 Mustang project car. It was a broken down thing, battered and rusting, but it had been beautiful once, and with enough love it could be again.

“Don’t worry,“ he whispered as he raised the hood. “You’re gonna purr almost as good as Baby did when I’m done with you.”

Dean started removing the manifolds from the cylinder heads, then moved on to the belts, pump, and dampener. He was a quarter of his way through the dismantling when his cell phone rang, a familiar name popping up on the screen.

“Hey there, Sam. Everything alright?”

“Everyone’s fine. I just wanted to call and check in to see how you’re doing.”

Dean smiled. They talked often now, almost every week, but it still felt good to hear his brother’s voice.

“I’m alright. The kids are out on a hunt and I am elbow deep into the engine of a ‘62 Mustang. How’s the family?”

“Good. Loud.” He laughed. “I’m pretty sure I get more sleep on a hunt than I do at home.”

“Wait ‘til you hit fifty,” Dean warned him, as he worked to free the valve cover that the last mechanic had bolted on impossibly tight. “You’ll never sleep through the night again, noise or not.”

“Well that’s not encouraging.” He sighed, then abruptly changed subjects. “Hey, do you remember Mrs. Butters?”

Dean thought for a moment, trying to place the name. “The wood elf who tried to kill us?” he asked.

“Nymph. Wood nymph,” Sam corrected.

“Sure, okay. What about her?”

“I ran into her on a case. Spent a few hours catching up. It turns out she still has a pretty big soft spot for us. Did you know she’s been around forever?”

“Never thought to ask.”

“Yeah, well she helped me send a present your way. It should be there in a few hours.”

Dean stopped fighting the bolt with his socket wrench and thought back as best he could to their time together to figure out what it might be.

“Is it a cake?” he finally asked. “She could make one hell of a red velvet.”

“Better.”

He thought for a moment. “Pie?”

Sam snorted. “Better than pie.”

“Well now I know you’re just messing with me, man. Ain’t nothing better than pie.”

The valve cover finally slipped free, and he let out a silent cheer, wiping a bead of sweat away from his forehead with the back of his glove.

Sam laughed. “You’ll agree with me when you see it. Just don’t go anywhere for the next couple of hours, alright?”

Dean peered down at the engine, now free of the valve cover, and sighed. “Don’t worry. This engine’s gonna keep me busy for awhile.”

“Good.” He paused, as though he wanted to say more, than thought better of it. “We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Sure, man.”

The line disconnected, and Dean went back to removing the cylinder heads, not giving much thought to the surprise Sam claimed was on it’s way. The heads were always heavy - it would be easier to lift with help - but he had learned over the years how to get the job done on his own. He took care of the timing gear and the camshaft, and was just about to remove the oil pan when the sound of an old, familiar rumbling caught his attention.

Dean turned to see the sleek, black hood of a ‘67 Impala pull into view, just outside the bay doors.

“Baby?” he murmured.

The car purred to a stop in front of the bay doors. The figure of a man exited the Impala and began walking towards him, cloaked in the darkness of the night. Dean shook his head and smiled, putting down his tools to meet his brother.

“Sammy!” he called out. “You didn’t say you were dropping my present off in person! How you doing, man?”

The figure paused, and Dean realized for the first time that it was the wrong height and build to be Sam. Instinctively, his hand moved towards the knife he always kept in his back pocket, adrenaline pumping, ready for a fight. Then the figure spoke.

“Hello, Dean.”

The figure took a step closer, into the warm, electric glow of the headlights, and for the first time in nearly ten years, Dean saw the face of his angel standing before him. It wasn’t a match that lit up inside him this time - it was a thousand fucking candles, enveloping his soul in a soft, warm gleam of golden light.

Dean moved towards him in long, quick strides, closing the gap between them, ripping off his oil-stained work gloves as he went. Every piece of Dean - heart, body, and soul - longed to wrap his arms around him and draw him close, but his mind - a hunter’s mind, still, long conditioned to distrust anything that brought him happiness - kept him grounded.

The man looked down as he approached, unwilling to meet his gaze. Dean reached out, cautiously, and ran his hand across the stubble of his cheek, coming to rest at the curve of his chin. With gentle reverence, he guided it upwards until he could see his eyes. There, buried deep beneath the shame and doubt shining on the surface, he saw what he was looking for. There was no need for holy water, or silver, or any other test to tell him what he already knew. This was Cas. His Cas.

“Well hey there,” he murmured.

Dean took a step closer, his hand moving to the nape of Cas’s neck, while the other slipped around his waist, guiding the angel forward, into him. For a moment, Cas lay slack against him, unresponsive. Then, slowly, clumsily, he encircled his arms around him and collapsed into the embrace.

“Dean.” Castiel sighed his name into his skin, and Dean felt a flash of fire in his belly. He understood now, fully, why the bunker had stopped being home all those years ago. His home wasn’t a place; it was a person. It was Cas.

Dean strengthened the embrace, pressing tighter against his body as he nuzzled deeper into the crook of Cas’s neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. It was the same as he remembered: the aura of the air after a rainstorm, crisp and cool, intermingled with the earthy smell of evergreen and wood smoke. The scent resurrected memories long forgotten over the years, of the little moments, the small and the mundane - a hand on the shoulder as they walked up the stairs of a run down motel, the clink of one whiskey glass against another as they shared a drink in a rare moment of peace - that had laid the foundation for something deeper than just desire to rise up between the two.

Yesterday, recalling those memories would have stung, like a fistful of salt rubbed into an already gaping wound. But today it was different. Today, he had Cas. And he wasn’t about to let him go.

Dean pressed his lips against the crook of Cas’s neck, a soft, tender kiss, then another, just above it, working his way up his throat and across his jaw line, lips scraping against stubble until they found their home against his mouth. Beneath him, he felt Castiel’s body stiffen, his muscles growing tense, lips refusing to give way. Dean pulled away to find Cas staring at him, bewildered, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Dean, you don’t have to…I‘m not…” Cas stammered, looking completely helpless. “I didn’t think-”

“-That I felt the same way?” Dean asked gently. His eyes softened and dropped his forehead against Cas‘s. “Well suck it, sunshine, ‘cause I love you, too. Always have.”

Cas‘s eyes snapped upwards, locking on to his. “Always?” he asked, thunderstruck.

“Always. I was just too dumb to realize it.” He nudged his nose against his and grinned. “Lucky I had an angel to show me the way.”

Cas stared at him, disbelieving, head tilted and blues eyes searching, the same way they had the night they first met in that barn in Pontiac, when he looked beyond the walls Dean had built and realized that he didn’t think he deserve to be saved. Dean had been angry then - angry that Castiel had so easily seen what he had worked his whole life to hide. Now, Dean stood defenseless, walls down by choice, praying that Cas could see the truth in his soul.

His eyes widened in realization, and a smile spread across his face. “Always,” Cas repeated, as though saying it out loud would cement it as true.

“Always have,” Dean agreed, his voice low with emotion. He swallowed. “Always will.”

His angel gazed at him, blue eyes crinkling with astonishment. He reached out, hesitantly, to run his hand across Dean’s cheek, then stopped, looking at him for permission. Dean nodded, and the tips of Cas’s fingers ghosted across his skin, dancing down his cheek and brushing across his lips, soft and sweet. His hands continued their innocent exploration, his thumb running over the coarse stubble of his beard, while the other carded through his hair, grayed by time.

“It’s a different color now,” Cas mused.

Dean ducked his head, embarrassed to realize how different he must look from how Cas last remembered him.

“I’m old, I know,” he muttered, ears turning red. “It’s, uh, it’s been a long time.”

“I like it.” Cas reached out and ran his finger across the corners of his eye, tracing the lines where the skin had folded and creased over time. “I like all of it. They say these lines come from smiling. I hope you’ve been smiling over the years, Dean.”

He smiled sadly, and Castiel‘s heart broke for him.

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean reached out and took Cas’s hand in his own. “I’m smiling now.”

They stared at one another, just as they had so many times in the past, only this time they didn’t have to walk away unfulfilled, wanting more. This time they closed the gap between them, bodies and lips entwined with one another, and began to make up for all that time had stolen.

But chaste kisses and soft touches were not nearly enough to satiate their desire, and soon their lips were crashing against one another with desperation, while their hands ran freely over one another’s bodies, roaming over uncharted territory, claiming it as their own. Cas’s hand wandered to Dean’s lower back, then lower still, to where his cheek formed a perfect curve, and he squeezed.

Dean moaned against him, his breath hot against his skin, and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into his mouth. Cas stepped closer and Dean bucked his hips forward, causing a flash of fire to cascade through him. Cas had felt that fire before, once, long ago, with April, but it had burned cooler then, dying nearly as soon as the flame had been lit. This was different. This fire was fed with every kiss, with every touch, with every moment spent together. If it went on much longer, it would be an inferno.

Cas took a step back, overwhelmed, and rested his forehead against Dean’s. They stood there together, silent but for the sounds of their ragged breaths, flushed skin against cool night air.

“Is this what it feels like? Lust?” Cas asked quietly, as he ran his hand through his love’s graying hair.

Dean started at him, confused. “Cas, have you…have you never felt this before?”

“Once, when I was human,” he explained. “All those years I wanted you, the want was different than it is now. Angels are not creatures of flesh. Perhaps that’s why we don’t share the same needs. I was always curious about the hedonistic wants of man, but I never yearned for it. I can see now why it was denied to us. A feeling like this could drive someone to sin, just for a chance to have it again.”

“Cas,” Dean asked breathlessly, “Are you human?”

Castiel looked down and nodded. “Surrendering my grace was the only way to escape the Empty.”

“So you’re saying you’re all mine now?”

”I saying I’m powerless,” he muttered darkly. “I no longer have any abilities of note. I’m sorry, Dean, it appears I’ve outlasted my usefulness.”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright. I don’t hunt anymore. But even if I did, it wouldn’t matter.” He took him by the hands. “I never needed your powers, Cas. I needed you.”

Dean leaned in a placed a kiss on his forehead, and Castiel felt the fear drain from his body. He stared up at Dean gratefully, eyes bright with love. Cas reached out and cupped his face, palm fitting flush against his cheek, his skin still warm from their previous endeavors. 

Dean grinned and leaned back in to kiss him again, full and deep, holding his body close. Cas whimpered as he began to pull away, and Dean slowed the separation, sucking gently on Cas’s bottom lip as their lips slowly slipped apart.

Dean pressed their cheeks together and sighed against his skin, his hands moving lower, hips rolling forward. 

”How about we head back to my place and I show you just how much I need you?” He growled, hot breath tickling his ear. 

Cas nodded, and Dean’s hand slipped into the pocket of his trench coat, fingers closing over a familiar piece of cold, ridged metal. He pulled out the key to Baby and held it in his hand. It still fit solidly in his palm, just as he remembered, though not quite as perfectly as the hands of the man standing before him. 

“Come on, Cas,” he said, entwining their fingers and pulling him towards the Impala. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
